


Free from Freedom

by Thuri



Series: 100 Prompts Fulfilled [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Dark fic, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Other, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thuri/pseuds/Thuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old foe arrives in a new guise...and takes back what has always been his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free from Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> As part of the LiveJournal 100 posts challenge going around, I'm filling 100 prompts. This is the first.
> 
> Prompt: Loki transforms himself into his female form for mischief with one of the Avengers...not Thor...maybe Natasha or Barton?.
> 
> I don't usually write this dark, but it's what the prompt brought out. So...enjoy?

She was tall, she was beautiful, and she was checking him out.

It happened, often enough, Clint would admit. Would brag to, in fact, if asked. He was a good-looking man and kept himself in _excellent_ shape. Even being short--shorter than Stark when he wore those damn lifts--wasn’t much of a hindrance. Everyone was the same height lying down.

So yeah, he was used to some attention. At least when he went out on his own.

Not as much at times like this, with Steve “Captain Tight Tshirt America” Rogers on one side of him, and Tony “Billionare Playboy” Stark on the other. If he got noticed at all, it tended to be by the girls who thought they stood a better chance with the non-superhero, non-rich guy.

And Clint didn’t really get off on either pity or insecurity.

So yeah, it was a bit odd to have a woman that beautiful, that confident and that _tall_ looking in his direction, when Stark and Rogers were still flanking him. But her eyes were on his and she nodded, just slightly, when he raised an inquiring eyebrow.

_Still got it, Barton._

He grinned, signalling the bartender to send her one of the same, raising his own glass when it arrived. She pushed her long fall of black hair back over a bare shoulder and inclined her head, taking a long sip.

“Excuse me, guys,” Clint said, sliding out from between his teammates. “Target’s been acquired.”

Stark laughed and let him by with a call of “Good hunting” and Clint headed toward his evening’s conquest.

* * *

“Isn’t this easier, Agent Barton? Isn’t this what you’ve missed, what you’ve _wanted_?”

Loki’s voice slid through his mind, no less powerful for its current feminine pitch and Clint groaned, turning away from it. He'd been caught all too easily in Loki's trap, lulled in by beautiful features and a lush figure, taken and buried balls deep before he realized it was too late. Far too late.

Gentle fingers caught his cheek, turned his face, nails suddenly pressing hard in warning when he resisted. “Don’t lie to me,” Loki hissed softly, a body soft with curves and firm with muscle moving over Clint’s as he lay there, helpless to stop it. “You want this, you _need_ it. Need to feel your mind in my hands, to feel free from freedom. You’ve been aching for it, haven’t you?”

“No...” he gasped, hearing the desperation in his own voice as he choked out the word against his resistance. No, he hadn’t, he hadn’t, he’d not thought and longed for the sense of direction, of _rightness_ , when his body and moved and thought and acted solely to fulfill Loki’s will. Solely to gain the God’s approval.

Solely for _him_.

“Oh, but yes,” Loki moaned. “Yes, you _have_. I can feel it in you, Barton. I can feel your longing for this, for me...for your _better_. Your _master_. And I can feel the joy in you, that I’ve returned. Returned to take what is mine. What has _always_ been mine. No mere blow to the head could truly dislodge me from your mind.”

Clint shook his head, resistance and will fading as she moved over him, sapped away everything in him that could stand against her voice, her words. “I...no. I’m an Avenger...I stand...I stand...”

“With _me_ ,” Loki purred, fingers raking over his hair, now, nails pressing into his scalp. “You are mine. My tool, to use as I wish. My dagger, to stab into my enemies. You are _my_ weapon, Barton. And you will slide between their ribs and cut out their _hearts_.”

Clint closed his eyes, tears welling beneath them, thinking of Coulson, of the agents who had died by his hand on the helicarrier. Thought of the pain, the suspicion, since he’d returned. Thought of the agony this bastard trickster had caused him. He took the pain, the anger and tried, desperately, to let it fuel his defiance. “ _No_...”

The word came out a soft whimper.

“ _Yes_ ,” Loki crooned, tightening around him, ripping a harsh cry from deep within his chest. “Oh _yes_. Open your eyes, Barton. Open your eyes, and gaze upon your king, your queen, your lord, your mistress...”

And God help him, he did.

* * *

A hand reached for a shaft, knocked the arrow, let fly.

A tip exploded, eating away metal and flesh alike.

A second followed, burrowing itself deep.

A third, a fourth, a fifth...

All found their mark, before other hands knocked a body down, before darkness closed over clouded eyes.

Satisfaction rose, a deep coiling snake of joy at knowing a master had been pleased.

 

And somewhere, deep in the dark prison of his own mind, Clint let out a silent, never ending scream.


End file.
